


Sneak Attack... Hugs?

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Bad Quatum Theories, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Crack, Crazy Is Catching, Draco Is Sexually Traumatized, Draco's Subconscious is Tortured, Dumbledore Is A Sexual Being, Erectile Dysfunction, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Forced Humping, Harry Fails at Profanity, Harry Is Man Enough To Cry, Humor, M/M, Muggle Knowledge, Pining Harry, Pop Culture Refrences, Potter Is A Hug Rapist, Snape Has Low Blood Sugar Okay?, So Is Snape, Sooo Much Crack Though, This Is Your Draco On Cheering Charms, Top Draco, Use of 'Mudblood', Very Bad No Good Launguage, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Potter belonged in a mental facility, this just proved it. Draco had always known he was unhinged, but this went beyond the Golden Boy's usual insanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sneak Attack... Hugs?

**Author's Note:**

> This is Crack!fic. Massively, massively crack!fic.

 

\- - _Prologue._ \- -

 

Draco exited his dorm room grumbling. Fucking Crabbe and Goyle. Usually it was their deeply pervasive rumblings and snores that kept him up at night, but he would not stand for or, well, lay there for, the sounds of their grunts and groans as they did unspeakable things to each other. _Blech_. It made him shiver just thinking about it.  
  
Draco exited the common room when he realized he'd forgotten his robe. He stared at the stone wall for a full minute, debating. He trembled but decided he wasn't cold enough to go back, not to mention he didn't want to be privy to any flashes of skin from his two husky bodyguards. He was gay, but he wasn't _that_ gay.  
  
It had been a recent discovery, both the gaiety and that his two friends were regularly and often boinking each other. Neither bothered him and neither had been fully explored. And neither ever would be. No matter what Muggles thought, or liked to dream up, two men could not create life. Amazingly, fantastically hot sex, yes. Babies, no. And he needed an heir, at least, so his father thought and since his father's word was law: He needed an heir.  
  
Here was the quantum theory for it:

 

Variable _g (girls)_ = Gross. Introduce variable _f (father)_ and variable _h (heir)_. Subtract both _d (desire)_ and _m (men)_ and you got:

_g_ x Draco Malfoy - ( _d_ x _m_ ) ÷ ( _f_ x _h_ ) = one very unhappy, but non-disowned Draco Malfoy

  
Draco sighed deeply, perhaps he'd marry a girl who thought poofters were sexy and she'd let him have all the indiscriminate sex he wanted. That was really all he could hope for at this point as divorce was also disallowed in The Malfoy Doctrine.  
  
He sighed again, shaking his thoughts from him as they only served to depress him, and hummed quietly to himself. He didn't know many songs so he hummed what his mother used to sing to him when he was a child while he ran his palms up and down his biceps in an attempt to get the blood flowing. Perhaps he should've gone back for that robe?  
  
He stopped his wanderings by one of the large, open windows and stared out at the grounds. He looked down at his pale forearm and scoffed before reminding himself that what his father wanted, his father got. Draco sighed, forced his stormy grey eyes away and was instantly engulfed in a tight embrace.  
  
Draco reared back and looked down at the thing that was currently clinging to him. Unruly black hair met his gaze while strong arms pinned his own. _What the fuck was going on?_ If Draco didn't know any better, he could've sworn Harry Potter was hugging him. A whimper came from below him and the hold tightened to a painful squeeze. Holy fuck, it _was_ Potter.  
  
Draco could feel wetness drag across his skin as Potter buried his head and nuzzled his neck, swiping damp cheeks over his cool flesh. Was Potter… _crying_? No. There was no way. No fucking way. This could _not_ be happening.  
  
He stood stock still as Potter's fingers dug into his back and his arms nearly forced the air out of him with the strength of their hold. Potter's body was pressed flush against his and Draco could feel every shift of his muscles as well as the very hard length that was currently pressed against his thigh.  
  
Potter's chest was heaving against his and Draco's own hands were clenching convulsively at his sides while his eyes widened to massive proportions. He couldn't understand what was happening and his brain had apparently decided that not moving or encouraging this in any way was his best bet.  
  
He wanted to scream, to push the clearly unhinged Boy Who Lived off, to pull out his hair in chunks but he was struck immobile with shock. There was no way that Golden Boy had snuck out of his dorm room in the middle of the night, traipsed down to the Slytherin corridor, and decided to hug him as if his life depended on it. It just didn't make any sense.  
  
He was still scrunching his eyes tight, trying to force himself awake from what must have been the worst nightmare ever, when the tight pressure finally released. When he opened his eyes a moment later, Potter was gone, and the only thing that made him sure that it hadn't been a dream was the lingering warmth that had come from Potter's body heat.  
  
Draco finally relaxed his stance and felt safe enough to say, now that he was sure he was alone, "What _the_ _fuck_?"

 

\- - _Starey McStarerson_ \- -

 

A pink flush tinged Draco's pale cheeks and his ears burned, an action he hadn't even realized he was capable of, an action that was more suited to a poor, pathetic Weasley than a noble Malfoy. He tore apart his food angrily while emerald eyes bored into him from across the Hall.  
  
Had Potter always stared at him so much? Really, this was getting ridiculous. He could hardly enjoy his toast.  
  
Either Potter had always studied him like this and he'd never noticed or it was a recent development, most likely stemming from last night's… ' _encounter_.' He found both scenarios unsavory.  
  
"Why's Potter starin' at you? Did you, um, slingshot his owl or somethin'?" Crabbe grunted.  
  
So, this _was_ new then and Potter was being obvious enough about it that even his goons had noticed. "No, I - Wait, what? Did I _slingshot_ his owl?" Draco perked a blond brow and stared at Crabbe in cautious derision but decided to let the comment pass. Perhaps Potter wasn't the only one who was due for the loony bin?  
  
Crabbe shrugged and Draco scooted a little further down the bench from him as the craziness seemed to be catching.  His burly bodyguard glanced at him oddly and asked, "What'd you do to him then?"  
  
Draco sniffed at the implication that he'd done _anything_ to Potter and quipped, "As if I'd waste even a minute of my precious time on Potty? Perhaps he's finally noticed how inordinately handsome I am and can't keep from staring."  
  
Draco glared back at Potter's unflinching green and thought to himself, _or maybe he's gone psychotic and decided to show up like a ninja in the middle of the night to plan a stealth assault that consisted mainly of, what appeared to be… hugs?_ The former definitely sounded more believable.  
  
Draco shook himself and decided that Potter was insane, unstable and, most importantly, not his concern. So… he had needed a hug last night and had decided to force the first person he saw, as disturbing as that was… it was also oddly comforting. It was strange, granted, but it was also over.  
  
An overzealous nudge from his left nearly sent him face first into the butter and Goyle informed him in caveman-esque grumbles, "Potions next." Wonderful, more opportunities for the airheaded Gryffindork to stare at him.

* * *

Really now, this was getting out of hand. The back of his neck was on fire with embarrassment as he placed his nose closer to his parchment and scribbled his notes with his quill an inch from his cheek. Draco thought the word **_STOP_** as hard as he could at Potter but obviously he was not getting through and he refused to face him and make eye contact as Potter was doing enough of that for the both of them. So much so that, not only had his goons noticed, but everyone else in the class had as well. Their gazes were flickering between the two of them as if watching badminton.  
  
Draco was diligently and angrily ignoring him while Potter was perusing him unblinkingly with cartoonishly wide eyes. The room was unbearably quiet but for Snape's grating tone and Draco distinctly heard the Mudblood hiss, "Harry, you're causing a scene."  
  
Draco mentally whooped, fuck yes for filthy Mudbloods! Maybe they _didn't_ deserve to be exterminated one by one. Hmm… well, that was food for thought at least.  
  
Potter didn't even flinch and continued to stare completely unhindered. _**STOP, STOP, STOP**_! Bloody buggering fuck, Draco was going to do the Dark Lord's dirty work for him if Potter didn't _avert his motherfucking eyes_!  
  
He was used to attention but this was over the top, he wasn't a frickin' sideshow attraction! Beautiful, yes. Freakishly entertaining, no. Potter had no goddamn shame, man.  
  
Draco watched the clock over Snape's head. Just a few more minutes. His fists clenched and he gritted his teeth. After this, there would be no more. The Mudblood would talk sense into the Golden Boy and Draco wouldn't have to deal with this again.  
  
The last few minutes of class dragged on and Draco was forced to sit there while Potter's eyes roved over every inch of his body, so meticulously that Draco could feel Potter's heavy gaze as if they were Starey McStarerson's literal hands. The bell that signaled the end of his personalized hell finally rang and Draco, quite seriously, ran from the room.

* * *

Goddamn Crabbe and Goyle. Was a Silencing Spell really too much to ask for? Even if he could've somehow withstood their grunts and, dear god, _moans_. The squeal of the fucking mattress springs was like a banshee in heat. Not that Draco could blame it for complaining, two rhinos were fucking on top of it. Ew, ew, ew, bad mental images and... we're leaving.  
  
Draco tiptoed out of his dorm room and growled at Nott and Zabini, the lucky bastards. He would've sworn that no one could sleep through that, but there were two shining examples in the beds next to him. Gits.  
  
He wandered the hallways, deciding the castle was not the place for him. He'd already given himself the willies by picturing his gruff bodyguards going at it and he wasn't about to hang around the scene of last night's crime. Blugh.  
  
He ended up down by the lake, enjoying the night's breeze and, for once, not allowing himself to think about _anything_. Which was probably what led to him being blindsided, _again_.  
  
Goddamn Harry fucking Potter, his arms were yet again pinned at his sides by the Gryffindor's surprisingly muscular ones and Draco stomped his foot agitatedly. How had Draco not seen him coming? Again his body took up the T-Rex defense and he remained immobile while Potter pulled their bodies flush against one another's. An undoubtedly new stiffy poking him unnervingly in the thigh.  
  
Potter brushed their cheeks together as he held on for dear life, so tightly that Draco was sure he'd have bruises come morning. Draco's rage was building and if Potter didn't let go soon, he'd surely explode. As if Potter had read his mind, his grip slackened and he began to withdraw.  
  
Draco eyed the unruly black mop warily, perhaps Potter was a skilled Legilimens and he hid it behind that doofy Gryffinwhore smile? Draco certainly never would've suspected, in all honesty he was still shocked that Potter had the alphabet figured out.  
  
Potter took a tiny step back while Draco's mercurial eyes burned with undiluted fury.  Potter cupped his cheek. Draco sputtered and his eyes bulged as Potter gazed at him sincerely, his eyes brimming with tears, and said hoarsely, "Don't die."  
  
 _What the bleeding fuck?_  
  
Draco looked around them, as if he was searching for someone who could confirm that this was insane. No, beyond insane, fucking ludicrous. He found no one, grumbled, and turned back to find Potter walking towards the school.  
  
Fuck that. Potter owed him answers, goddamn it! "Why?" Draco demanded, deciding not to elaborate. There were many different things Potter could relate that to and, really, Draco would be happy with any answer at this point. _Why are you hug-raping me? Why are you suddenly a wack job? Why do you care if I die?_  
  
"It only gets better when I touch you," Potter called back to him, seemingly unconcerned.  
  
"What gets better?" Draco ground out, breathing deeply so he wouldn't kill the Boy Who Had So Far Escaped A Well Deserved Death.  
  
Potter shrugged and said simply, "Everything," before turning his back on him and returning to the castle.  
  
It took Draco longer to get back to his own rooms, having stayed out by the lake to try and _think_. Having no luck, he finally gave up and was now walking the familiar path to the Slytherin common room, muttering, " _Fucking hug rapist_ ," under his breath.

 

\- - _The Practical Uses of Biros Or: Q-Tips, Gutted Pigs and Facials... Oh My! - -  
_

_  
_How far did you have to a stick Q-tip in your ear before it caused permanent brain damage?  
  
Draco really didn't want to find out through experimentation and was forced to weigh the pros and cons while the Q-tip hovered halfway between nausea and madness.  
  
On one hand, having his dinner announce its encore—a reverse feint—while he listened to Crabbe's high-pitched _squealing_ and, what he assumed must be, Goyle's, ugh, _bedroom voice_. On the other, shoving the Q-tip past the point of no return and becoming either a vegetable or profoundly retarded.  
  
Draco stared at the Q-tip longingly and decided he _could_ wear a helmet for the rest of his life. He really could. It's not like he'd care that he had helmet hair. On the other side of the door, he heard a deep and bestial groan and, adding that to the feminine _squeaks_ , Draco decided that his roommates were gutting a pig. Lalalala…yep, and he was going to continue thinking that, no more grunts or gasps would ever convince him otherwise.  
  
What's a little animal sacrifice between buddies?  
  
Not wanting to hear anymore, especially since it would most likely contradict his pig-gutting theory, Draco shoved his fingers in his ears, scrunched his eyes shut tight and skittered out of the bathroom. Only banging his knee on Nott's trunk and consequently hitting the back of his head on the bedpost when he'd howled, slamming into his own armoire, and finally running into the doorframe - which was really quite a doozy - on his way out.  
  
And Nott and Zabini were still out cold. Twats.  
  
Draco opened his eyes as soon as he was in the common room and exhaled in relief. He wasn't dead, retarded, comatose, or even severely injured. Only mildly injured! A successful retreat if he said so himself. Now… where to go?  
  
Draco frowned. That's right, Golden Boy had made it impossible for him to have any semblance of peace outside his dorm room, which was left untouched only because his own House mates were already doing that for him. Otherwise Draco was sure Potter would've invaded and set up camp there too. He pouted, looking petulant.  
  
He wished he had a mirror. He always looked impossibly handsome when he pouted.  
  
He rubbed his aching knee and puffed out his chest defiantly after a minute of thought. Potter was the one who was being weird, not him. Why should he hide in his rooms? Potter's the one that should be shamed to his quarters for being a daft loon. If he came back tonight, well, let's just say Draco was ready to give him a right telling off… even if Potter did seem to have the ability to turn selectively invisible.  
  
Draco walked out of the castle and down by the lake again. It was his favorite place and he wasn't about to let Potter taint it for him.  
  
Five o'clock rolled around and, while Draco's eyelids were drooping terribly, he hadn't been accosted by a deranged lunatic! Good Godric, this called for a victory dance of some sort! Draco would get to it…  
  
Right after he'd had a nice little nap with his face in a gargantuan pile of mud.  
  
So… mud hardened in the sun, did you know? Because Draco knew. He knew quite well, actually. He raised his face out of the mud and found that every time he changed his features in the slightest - blinked, yawned, crinkled his brow, the mud, which seemed to have curved to every contour of his face—extremely uncomfortably mind you—would break off, leaving him feeling very stiff and awkward.  
  
He rubbed at his cheeks and felt the dried dirt roll between his palms before berating himself and pulling out his wand. Honestly, what kind of wizard was he? One, or three, or eight Cleaning Charms later and he was ready to appear in public, for a short burst, before getting to the showers. He patted the nonexistent dust from his robes and cast a harried _Tempus_ charm. Well, fuck.  
  
He had a full one minute and twenty-two seconds to get to Potions before he was officially late. He had already missed Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Brilliant.  
  
Draco danced nervously from foot to foot, his hands winding together in indecision as he glanced between the end of the castle and the entrance. On the one hand, he could _feel_ the dirt caked around his nostrils and behind his ears. He _knew_ , well, some part of him knew, that it wasn't actually there but he still _felt_ extremely gross. On the other, he could just Summon his books, grit his teeth, and bear it.  
  
Draco sighed, he'd already missed two classes more than he'd expected and he, grudgingly, stomped his way back up to the castle, Summoning his books on the way.  
  
Everyone was looking at the mud. He was convinced. Granted, no one was ever looking when _he looked_ up, but he knew their tricks, they just waited for him to look down to point and laugh. Bastards.  
  
He could feel their eyes all over him. And that thought drew memories of Potter's own wandering eyes the last time he'd been in this room and he looked over at everyone's favorite savior to find him, quite literally, fast asleep, drooling all over his desk.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. At least that was one thing he didn't have to worry about. He glanced over at the Mudblood, who was dutifully scribbling down everything Snape said. He was almost certain he had her to thank for this. He could have kissed her.  
  
It almost would have been worth the entire weekend that would go down the drain scrubbing off any memory of it.  
  
About five minutes later, Draco decided no one was staring at the nonexistent mud and that he was becoming slightly paranoid in the aftermath of this whole Potter debacle. Halfway through the class and Draco had drawn a nice, and animated, picture of his stick figure self stabbing a stick figure Potter with a biro. Ah, closure.  
  
Draco closed his notebook and was just thinking about how he could use a light doze himself when the loudest, most soul-shattering scream tore through the room. Every head snapped in the direction it had come from and… _holy fuck_ , is that what Potter'd looked like every time woke up this past week? He looked absolutely psychotic.  
  
His hair was electrified and stuck up at every angle… worse than usual. His eyes were glowing with tears and what Draco assumed was insanity. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving as if he'd just run the entire length of England and back. He was positively quivering and suddenly those maniac eyes were scanning the room.  
  
No, no, no. Not the T-Rex defense. Potter is not a T-Rex! Why the fuck could Draco's brain not get this? It just short-circuited and went with the ' _if you don't move, he can't see you_ ' tactic. Potter's eyes landed on him and Draco scrunched his own. Nothing happened for long moments and Draco dared to hope that Potter was gone and this was over.  
  
He peeked out cautiously from his cowering position and looked up to see Potter standing over him, a wild glint in his eye as his hand reached down, crumpled the fabric of Draco's robes in a tight fist, and hefted _up_.  
  
Well fuck if Draco wasn't standing in less than a second.  
  
Potter took a step closer, the last step between them really and, for one mad moment, Draco was sure that Potter would punch him, kick him, bite him. But instead the hand on his shoulder flexed, tightened, and dragged him forward into those muscular arms that wrapped around him as if they were made for nothing else.  
  
Draco's face burned and, before he realized what he was doing, he'd turned it into Potter's neck to escape the shocked glares of his classmates. At least he didn't have to worry about Snape. The Potions master had gaped, goggled, sputtered, choked, pounded on his chest, rolled his eyes back, and promptly fainted.  
  
This was the first time that Draco's arms weren't pinned at his sides, and… he kind of wished they were. He had no idea what to do with them. He couldn't break Potter's hold, the damn Gryffin… arsehole was too strong.  
  
Fuck, he wasn't even being creative inside his own head anymore.  
  
And he certainly didn't want to encourage this so he let them hang limp at his sides, waiting for it to be over.  
  
But it wasn't over… and it wasn't over… and it wasn't over. Goddamn it, Potter had never held on this long, nor did Draco think he'd ever been this _stiff_. He was as hard as a fucking rock against Draco's thigh. Draco was sure he was just as royally pissed off as he had been every other time, so why hadn't Potter let go yet? That's when he realized that Potter was _sobbing_ against him. He'd been so worried about where his arms should be that he hadn't noticed the choking, wracking sobs this boy was heaving into his body.  
  
Wow.  
  
Maybe he really was self-absorbed?  
  
Nope… that didn't sound right.  
  
Draco tentatively raised his arms to pat Potter's back awkwardly, hoping to both mildly comfort him and subtly encourage him to remove himself. He didn't seem to be accomplishing either and Draco decided he really liked the time delay between… whatever had made Potter like this and how long it took him to find Draco.  
  
For the first time, Draco braved a look at his classmates and tried to convey with his eyes that he thought this was as nutters as they did. Unfortunately, everyone was looking at his and Potter's tangled embrace with something akin to either awe, fear, or pity. Shit.  
  
Draco cleared his throat next to Potter's ear when the tears had _finally_ become silent and Potter loosened his hold but didn't completely release him. Draco clenched his jaw and nearly hissed, _Let go, you socially retarded buffoon_ , but somehow managed to give him a very forced, very scary looking smile that said it for him.  
  
Potter wouldn't meet his eyes and Draco found that a welcome development. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, sniffed, and held his head high as he exited the Potions classroom a full half hour before schedule.  
  
He was going to frame that picture of him stabbing Potter just as soon as he got back to his room.

 

\- - _Sex Advice from the Moldy Plum Or: Attack of the Fleshy Blobs!_ \- -

_No, no, no, no, no. This could not be happening._  
  
Draco's mouth hung open slightly, his eyes bulging, and his hands scrabbling against the arms of his uncomfortably rigid chair. He shut his eyes tight. He'd wake up soon. He had to. He simply had to. If he didn't… then he'd be scarred for life. A stern, demanding voice insisted that he pay attention but Draco couldn't open his eyes.  If he did he might vomit.  
  
An exasperated sigh came from in front of him and his godfather's strained voice said, "Honestly, Draco, it's not as if you can go to your father for these things. I'm trying to help you, the least you could do is pay attention."  
  
Draco shot a glare at both him and that stupid, gaudy, overrated, twinkling bastard. He sunk lower in his seat, still unable to make his mouth force out words of denial. Did _he_ really have to be here for this?  
  
"Now, as I was saying, you want to get up to three fingers inside and make sure your partner is ready and relaxed, as well as properly stretched, before you insert…"  
  
 _Oh God, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!_ Draco closed his eyes, put his fingers in his ears, pressed his lips into a thin line, and hummed as loud as he could. A sharp slap on his thigh with his godfather's wand forced his eyes open. He pouted and Snape spelled his hands to lie flat on the arms of the chair.  
  
"Sexuality is something to be celebrated, Mr. Malfoy!"  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. Oh great, the talking plum had decided to chime in. As if this wasn't awkward enough with Snape here, Dumbledore had decided to get in on this little mortification exercise, and in robes of deep purple for some reason. Arses.  
  
"You know, this little information session wouldn't have been necessary if you and Potter hadn't been so blatantly obvious about your relationship."  
  
Draco groaned and shouted, "For the last time, we _don't have_ a relationship!"  
  
Snape scoffed and shook his head disbelievingly. "I'm not going to say it didn't come as a shock." Snape looked sheepish as he remembered his 'Low Blood Sugar' episode as he had come to refer to it. "And that I'm not more than a little disappointed over your choice of _boyfriend_ , but I am trying to help you now. There is, however, no use denying it. Potter spent last lesson clinging to you, the lesson before that he stared at you as if you'd ingested his first born child, not to mention—"  
  
"Right! _I_ had nothing to do with it! Potter's clearly gone off the deep end!" Draco jerked his thumb in the direction of Dumbledore. "No doubt the moldy plum over here had something to do with his wires getting crossed and I'm just an innocent victim in all this. Really, I should be getting some kind of stipend for emotional suffering and maybe the rest of my classes off until this week is over and a—"  
  
"You're constantly pining for the idiot boy's attention, being as obnoxious as possible whilst acting like a hyperactive five-year-old until he notices you," Snape finished as if he'd never been interrupted.  
  
Draco's jaw went slack before he sputtered and rose to his own defense, looking thoroughly scandalized.  "I _do not_ pine for his attention! I _hate_ him! What is _wrong_ _with you_?"  
  
Snape waved him off. "Nothing's wrong with _me_. Now, communication is important to any relationship but specifically in the bedroom. You need to be sure that your partner is okay with each step you take, you don't want to move too fast. Lubrication," Snape said, fishing in one of his desk drawers until he found what he was looking for, holding it up like Vanna White. Snape grinned lasciviously and Draco felt his stomach churn unhappily. "Is essential to any successful coupling."  
  
Dumbledore, who had been staring off into space, looking as loopy as Lovegood, perked up at the mention and eyed the bottle in Snape's hand, licking his lips. "Is that lemon flavored? I do enjoy lemon."  
  
Draco groaned. He did not need to know his Headmaster's favorite flavor of lube. Oh god, now he really was going to be sick. "I-I think I've gotten the essentials down, Severus. Stretching, lubrication, communication," he said, ticking them off on his fingers. "We're good. I'm good. I've got it. Can I please, please, _please_ go?" Draco pressed his palms together in a pleading fashion.  
  
Snape seemed oddly put out and said uncertainly, "If you're sure, Draco. If you're confused about anything, don't hesitate to come back. We haven't even touched upon rimming or toys."  
  
Draco cringed and squirmed in his seat before hopping to his feet, unable to sit still even a second longer. Snape nodded and Draco turned away from the both of them, ready for a long, hot shower, hoping it would erase any memory of this when Moldy Plum called merrily after him, "Have fun stretching Harry, Mr. Malfoy!"  
  
Draco gave an odd bark and felt as if his esophagus was getting shorter. His ears were burning as he sprinted to the door and wrenched it open, seriously considering Obliviating himself. Salazar, this was definitely a contender for Worst Day Ever.

* * *

See, that's the thing about bad days. They always get worse before they get better. Or so some stupid-arse Muggle had said. How Draco had even heard the expression was beyond him but he felt like punching the fucker that had said it, just for being right.  
  
Everything was a fucking disaster. He had decided to go flying to clear his head of Moldy Plum's jolly voice encouraging him to ' _Have fun_ ' deflowering Potter. For some reason it seemed to be looping and he had no illusions: Dumbledore had clearly done something to him.  
  
Some spell or something so that he could think of doing nothing but fucking Potter while Dumbledore watched and cheered him on from the sidelines, saying things like ' _Yes, that's it, Mr. Malfoy! Harry clearly enjoyed that! Just **listen** to him!' A slight chuckle, 'Well, clearly you've taken mine and Professor Snape's lessons to heart, you do seem to enjoy having your fingers up there_.' Or worse yet, when he was really trying to torture himself: ' _No, no, Mr. Malfoy, you're doing it all wrong. Here, step aside, let me_.'  
  
Oh God, he really was going to be sick. He scuttled to the locker room's loo, slipped on a puddle, slammed his chin on the rim of the toilet, and retched all over himself. Brilliant.  
  
A hasty Cleaning Spell, followed by a shower, and Draco was standing outside the broom shed. He tugged on his own broom but it seemed to be stuck on something so he, naturally, yanked harder. The box of Quidditch balls immediately targeted his head as he finally loosed his broom. The box sprang open as it hit the ground and the Bludgers, which hadn't been properly fastened in, broke free and immediately zeroed in on his head and began bouncing off his face repeatedly. Lovely.  
  
He ended up having to break his own broom beating them back into the box but he managed it single-handedly. He would have been proud of himself if he had been capable of thinking that emotion through. He repaired his broom when it occurred to him to do so and then did his best with his bloody, bruised face.  
  
He was fucking determined now. He was going to have a motherfucking leisurely fly even if it fucking killed him, which was beginning to seem more and more like a genuinely realistic outcome. Draco stepped out onto the pitch, repaired broom in hand, a Snitch-sized lump on his forehead, a black eye, and a fat lip. He mounted his broom and then he felt it.  
  
A small drop at first, and he was sure it had come from his bloody nose, but then he felt another and another. It was not. It couldn't be. It was brighter than a thousand fucking suns. Draco looked up with shielded eyes as raindrops sprinkled his cheeks and the sky grew dark within minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
  
Draco kicked off the ground, not caring that apparently the universe was out to get him, not caring that a huge flash of lightning had just split the sky in two, and not caring that he could barely see. He was going to have a leisurely fucking fly, goddamn it!  
  
And all was good. Sure, it wasn't necessarily pleasant being soaked to the bone by the now torrential downpour, but he knew the bounds of the pitch even if he couldn't see them and he was enjoying himself, weaving in and out of the larger drops.  
  
He flew alongside the castle walls and that's when all was distinctly _not_ good. Why his eyes were drawn _there_ was a mystery in and of itself but it was as if it were a show just for him. And he really, really wished he'd returned the ticket.  
  
Pudgy flesh pressed up against the window of one of the empty classrooms on the second floor. He could see two hands squeezing mounds of pale skin as they hefted the gargantuan flesh-colored blob up against the window. Another nude, flesh-colored blob was moving rhythmically while he clearly exerted every iota of strength he had into holding up the blob in his hands.  
  
That was when Draco figured out what the blobs were, gagged, and lost control of his broom. He didn't remember crashing, he didn't really remember anything, except thinking, f _ucking Crabbe and Goyle_.

* * *

Draco awoke by degrees and felt… good. No, not just good. Amazing! Everything was really… _nice_. He felt like he was floating and really every thought he had made him want to giggle. He was overcome with the urge to dance and was extremely disappointed when he found he couldn't move his limbs. He pouted and opened his eyes to find the _nice_ nurse with her _nice_ scowl, giving him a _nice_ once over.  
  
She shook her _nice_ head and sighed _nicely_. "I don't know how you've managed it, Mr. Malfoy, but you've broken nearly every bone in your body. You would be in an immense amount of pain but I've numbed you to it and hit you with a rather intense Cheering Charm." Draco nodded lazily at her, his eyes blinking separately. She seemed to be restraining a _nice_ smile. "I don't think I've ever seen you quite so agreeable, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Draco nodded again lackadaisically and she consulted her _nice_ chart and gave him a _nice_ stern glare. "What were you thinking going flying in weather like that, were you trying to kill yourself?" She huffed _nicely_ and continued with her _nice_ concern. "You smashed into the side of the castle, Mr. Malfoy.  Have you any idea how fast you were going? It's a miracle you survived at all! Promise me you'll never do something so foolish ever again."  
  
Draco's tongue felt odd in his mouth as he let it fall open to slur, "Pro-mish." She really was a _nice_ lady, so _nicely_ concerned over _him_!  
  
He giggled as she shook her head indulgently and said _nicely_ , "You'll stay here overnight and hopefully by tomorrow all your bones will be in the proper order and proper position. Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Draco would have waved at her _nicely_ but settled for saying happily, "Night, Lady!" He heard the sound of her stifled laughter as she left him alone in the ward while he hummed jauntily to himself. This really was a _nice_ room, and a _nice_ bed, and a _nice_ place. He heard a ruffling noise and lifted his head, the only bit of him he could move. Yet, for some reason, that didn't seem to worry him in the least.  
  
There was a muffled sound and he stared hard in the direction of it—the foot of his bed. He was still squinting, occasionally closing one eye and then the other until he forgot what he'd been doing in the first place and continued to play the game of ' _close up, far away, close up, far away_.' He was giggling again and nearly swallowed his tongue as he yelped. Harry Potter had appeared out of _nowhere_.  
  
Potter put his finger to his lips and his eyes were wide and pleading for Draco's silence and, in Draco's state, he couldn't really deny anybody anything. Draco gave Potter the same lazy nod he'd given the _nice_ nurse and motioned with his head for Potter to get out of the way so he could continue playing the ' _close up, far away_ ' game. But Potter didn't move where he wanted him to, instead he cautiously crawled onto Draco's bed and then up the length of his body, careful to never actually touch him.  
  
Draco stared at him, wide-eyed and confused. Potter still hadn't looked at him and he lowered himself slowly onto Draco's body. Draco gasped as he _felt_ Potter's hands slip under him and hold him close. He was pretty certain he wasn't meant to feel anything below his neck and this confused him, therefore he decided to stop thinking about it altogether. "Did I hurt you?" Potter whispered into his chest, where his head was resting.  
  
Draco shook his head and Potter looked up just in time to see it. His emerald eyes were glossy and Draco thought they looked quite _pretty_. He seemed relieved and said in a soft, _pretty_ voice, "It took me forever to find you. I really thought — I told you not to die!" He finished in a _pretty_ growl.  
  
Draco perked an eyebrow and thought Potter's hair didn't really look messy, it actually looked quite _pretty_. "I didn't die," Draco said simply.  
  
Potter glared _prettily_ up at him and snarled while his arms tightened, "You came real fucking close though, didn't you? What the hell were you thinking?" The question seemed to be rhetorical as Potter simply nuzzled further into Draco's chest and his arms clenched tighter.  
  
"Why do you do this?" Draco asked distractedly. He had just noticed that Potter's golden skin looked quite _pretty_ , too.  
  
Potter gave a _pretty_ snort and moved further up his body so that he was talking into Draco's neck now. "I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. I mean, to _really_ ask."  
  
Potter's breath continued to flutter over Draco's neck uncomfortably but nothing else was forthcoming and Draco huffed, feeling less agreeable. "Well, now that I have, are you going to _answer_?"  
  
Potter sighed _prettily_ and looked up at Draco seriously. "I have these dreams of you and you—" He lowered his _pretty_ head and mumbled, "You always die." Draco arched both brows to show he was still waiting for an answer and Potter buried his head back in his neck, deciding to talk to it instead. "It's always Voldemort and I always get there too late. I don't want you to die and I'm convinced you have until I see you, hold you."  
  
"But—" _why would you care?_ was cut off by Potter's thirsting tongue diving into Draco's mouth. That was just unsportsmanlike really. Draco decided he'd tell Potter off for it later because really, this felt quite _nice_. Potter shifted so that he was, once again, completely draped over Draco's body and his hard-on was, once again, digging into Draco's thigh, not that Draco could feel it this time.  
  
Potter's hands ran over his sides and Draco detested the fact that he had to see it to know it was happening. Potter's tongue, however, he could feel every taste bud of as it twisted around his own and dragged itself over his teeth and gums.  
  
He sucked on Potter's tongue gently and felt hands cupping his cheeks, forcing his head back for better access. Potter's kisses were hard and passionate and there was barely any time between them, just enough for him to say breathlessly, "Draco, Draco, Draco." And Draco was glad he'd learned to breathe through his nose and that he loved his own name so much as it seemed to be all Potter could say.  
  
Potter drew back and Draco fought the urge to whine. He placed kisses all over Draco's face and panted, "I love you. I love you so much." Well, _that_ put the brakes on things.  
  
Potter seemed to realize that Draco was no longer participating and then he seemed to realize what he'd said. His jaw dropped in horror and he gazed at Draco beseechingly. "Please, please, pretend I didn't say it," he said, his voice hoarse, while he trailed his forefinger over Draco's lower lip and, really, in Draco's state, he couldn't deny anybody anything.

 

\- - _I Am Not Going to Suck Potter's Dick!_ \- -

Draco yelped as he was pulled into a broom closet on his way to breakfast. Arms closed around his back before he could regain his footing and he found himself stepping into something that was rather cramped.  
  
He growled as he realized his foot was now wedged in a janitor's bucket. This really was not his day. He had already dealt with Crabbe and Goyle's… enthusiastic morning hellos and now he was being accosted by an overzealous loon all before he'd had his morning scone! "Potter—Jesus, man, have some common decency. It's hardly ten a.m. Besides, didn't I tell you there'd be no more of this?"  
  
It was true and Draco doubted that the silly Gryffindork had forgotten about it as _he_ still couldn't get the hurt look that had flashed across Potter's face out of his mind. But, once the potion had worn off, Draco wasn't as disposed to goodwill toward his fellow man as he had been and, goddamn it, enough was enough!  
  
He had been gracious about this for as long as he could. He deserved to be able to walk to breakfast without being ambushed by a lovesick might-as-well-be-a Hufflepuff.  
  
Potter completely ignored him and inhaled deeply as he crushed Draco against him, rubbing himself against Draco's thigh. Draco pushed against Potter's chest, muttering angrily, "Stop humping my leg, Potter. What're you, a dog in heat?"  
  
That earned him a nip on his neck that _did not_ make him squeal like an overzealous fangirl. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his dignity while a practically grown man humped him impishly. Fucker.  
  
Draco really regretted having to do this, but… war was hell. He lifted his leg and kneed Potter squarely in the groin.  
  
Potter bent over in agony and Draco's own balls clenched in sympathy. Draco smoothed the front of his robes and tried to keep the pity from his eyes as Potter glared at him, red-faced. "Well… you wouldn't let go," Draco said simply, shrugging as he left the room, bucket clomping noisily on the tile.  
  
Potter glared at him all through breakfast, not that Draco could really blame him. The messy-haired idiot boy waited until resident sex machines Crabbe and Goyle weren't paying attention to pantomime reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out thin air. Draco perked a blond brow condescendingly. God, Potter really was losing it.  
  
Potter rolled his eyes and pointed at him. Draco placed a finger against his own chest as if to say, ' _Me?_ ' Potter nodded, looking exasperated, and Draco reached into his robe pocket and felt a tiny scrap of parchment that hadn't been there this morning when he'd thrown them on and run from his dorm room screaming. He read the short note quickly and flicked his gaze back up to Potter, who was watching him intensely.  
  
 _I love you._  
  
Draco held the parchment in his outstretched hand with relish, letting it rest in the middle of his palm. He made sure to hold Potter's gaze as he pointed his wand at it. He fancied that he could see the flames reflected in Potter's devastated emerald eyes as he burned the parchment to bits. Potter seemed to deflate and Draco knew that that stab in his gut was hunger, not empathy. He _did not_ care.

* * *

Tattoos. They were supposed to be forever. Muggles were always saying that you should get something you'll enjoy looking at in fifty years. But really, nothing looked good with wrinkles. It was hard to accentuate those. And besides, they all still got idiotic hearts, stars and horseshoes, clovers and blue moons… wait, he was thinking of something else.  
  
Anyway, even more moronic, sometimes they'd get names. Anyone you feel passionate enough about to want their name on your skin will never last. Muggles truly were the winners in the race to stupidity.  
  
But weren't wizards just as foolish, tattooing allegiances, especially creepy ones? Draco didn't want a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth on his forearm for eternity. He would've taken a frickin' tap-dancing centipede over that.  
  
Plus, Mudbloods weren't so bad. Turns out Granger had even saved him since she'd been the one who'd found him after his spectacular crash on the Quidditch pitch a few days ago. Besides, Voldy-flatface looked like a cross dresser in that _gown_ he wore.  
  
Draco didn't want to follow an effeminate weirdo and he wasn't sure blood purity was such a great thing either these days.  It would inevitably mean a lot of inbreeding after all. Think Crabbe and Goyle with their IQs lowered about twenty points. If that was the case then Draco would welcome Granger with open arms. Well… at least he'd welcome her without clenched fists.  
  
And if his father had been wrong about that… then maybe marrying some stuck-up bimbette and producing an heir shouldn't be at the top of his to-do list. Maybe he should explore that gay thing a bit? And Potter did seem rather willing…  
  
No, no, no, what was wrong with him? Potter was not a suitable… lover! He was gross and… gross and Draco could do much better than him and he would, yes, that's right, he—Fuck!  
  
Potter's arms were squeezing the life out of him yet again. His chest was pressed firmly against Draco's back and he was rocking his hips smoothly, teasing Draco's arsecrack with his very stiff length. Lovely… except that, well, it actually was.  
  
Potter's chin was resting on his shoulder and Draco's hands closed over Potter's as he closed his eyes. It felt incredibly arousing with Potter pressed up against him like this, which was extremely awkward for Draco to admit.  
  
His eyes shot open as he realized what he was thinking and he elbowed Potter hard in the ribs. Potter wheezed and doubled over while Draco looked down on him coolly. "Didn't I tell you to stop this?"  
  
"I don't remember," Potter panted with a smirk, holding his injured side. His eyes were glassy and Draco wondered if he was still having the dreams.  
  
"Don't tempt me, Potter, I'll brand it into your forehead if I must," Draco said with a cocked eyebrow before striding off to the dungeons.  
  
He reached his dorm room, stalwartly ignoring the mewling sounds coming from his stout bodyguards. At least he couldn't see it, he thought morosely.  
  
He pulled off his robes, looking for something he could stuff in his ears, throwing them on the ground distractedly, thinking cotton balls could work well as earplugs when he noticed a piece of parchment had fallen out of his robe pocket.  
  
 _I burn for you_ , proclaimed Potter's untidy scrawl.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes but, for some reason, he couldn't seem to stop blushing.

* * *

Draco glared at Potter all through Potions but the boy was either steadfastly ignoring him or coyly flirting with him, running a finger lazily down his own chest, or giving him a sultry wink. It wasn't sexy, really, it was more spastic to be quite honest. So why the fuck was Draco getting hard? Well, two could play at that game.  
  
Draco picked up a pen that Tracey Davis had been using and sucked on the end of it, occasionally taking it as far into his mouth as he could and hollowing out his cheeks. Potter stared at him in awe and Draco chuckled, unfortunately it forced the pen back further and Draco gagged, quite unattractively if he did say so himself.  
  
Potter stifled a laugh and Draco sneered at him. Unfortunately for Potter, Draco had a very sensitive gag reflex.  
  
He sat smugly in his seat, analyzing that last thought. What the…' _Unfortunately for Potter_ '? Draco smacked his lips together, and scraped his tongue against his teeth, a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden.  
  
"I am not going to suck Potter's dick!"  
  
Everyone in the class had their heads whipped around in his direction in an instant and a few of the girls giggled. No, he _did not_! He couldn't have. There was absolutely no way he'd said that out loud.  
  
Snape cleared his throat from the front of the classroom and said uncomfortably, "Well, thank you for that… declaration, Mr. Malfoy, but I don't think that has anything to do with the volatile nature of dragon's blood."  
  
"Oh god," Draco muttered, covering his burning face with his hands, "Just let me die of mortification in peace."  
  
Draco's head hit the desk with a loud smack. Meanwhile, Potter was grinning at him like a loon.

* * *

"Harry, don't you think this has gotten a little out of hand?" The Mud—Muggleborn was saying while she ran a hand through her bushy, fishing line type hair. Draco peeked around the corner of his alcove to surreptitiously watch Potter's reaction.  
  
Potter was smiling widely and said in a cheery voice, "Not at all, Hermione. You heard him today in class, I'm getting to him." He shrugged his nice, broad shoulders. "Plus, it's not as if I can help it."  
  
Granger huffed unhappily. "I still don't understand why you want to 'get to him' though. Isn't that kind of like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye?"  
  
Potter looked wistful. "Hopefully it'll be like buggering an aroused Draco in the nude."   
  
Draco licked his lips. You know, that really didn't sound half bad. Potter's admittedly strong arms holding him tight as he pounded Draco as fiercely as he hug raped him—No, no, no. What the fuck was wrong with him?  
  
The Muggleborn seemed to be having a similar reaction as she cringed. "Oh, Harry! You promised! I do not need mental images like that in my head."  
  
Potter had the decency to appear sheepish. "Sorry, 'Mione."  
  
"I just don't get it. He's a, well, he's a… he's a cock, Harry!" Draco bristled at that, just who the hell did that little bint think she was? "He's all about blood purity and making our lives a living hell. If he had his way then you, me, and Ron would all be, well, exterminated."  
  
"I don't think he really wants that, Hermione. It's what his father wants and he hasn't learned to think for himself yet, but he will." Draco's mouth dropped open. How the hell did Potter know that? Draco really had to watch him more closely from now on, he knew just a little too much.  
  
The Granger girl looked stunned. "Harry, you don't really believe that?"  
  
"Of course I do!" Potter yelled defiantly.  
  
Granger scowled and yelled back, "You're delusional!"  
  
Potter crossed his arms over his chest. "You're delusional, shut up!"  
  
"Great comeback, Harry, what're you, five?"  
  
"What're you, ten?" This conversation was quickly descending to that of utter madness, paralleling an argument between two children on a playground, and Draco fought the urge to scoff at their inferior quarreling talents. Potter's last comment hadn't even made sense, for Merlin's sake.  
  
"You're acting like an imbecile," Granger said finally.  
  
"And you're insulting the man I love!" Potter yelled definitively, ending their tiff for the moment. It was so silent Draco would swear you would have been able to hear Longbottom's knees clacking. Potter was fuming and Granger was staring at him in shock and disbelief. Meanwhile, Draco was wincing, he really hated being reminded of Potter's _feelings_.  
  
She finally relayed weakly, "Oh god, Harry, you don't…"  
  
Potter looked uncomfortable and he shifted his weight awkwardly. "Er… no?  
  
It was silent for a beat and then: "Buggering fuck, Harry!"  
  
Potter gave an overdramatic gasp with wide eyes and breathed in a voice laden with shock and awe, "Hermione," similar to that of a child getting ready to spout, ' _Oooo, you're in troubbble_.'  
  
"Well Jesus, Harry, you told me you wanted to bed him, not make him fall in love with you!" Potter wanted to _what?_ That was completely unacceptable! Potter wasn't even close to his level! How dare he assume that Draco would even so much as _touch_ him! ... Who cared if he'd been thinking about doing just that only a moment ago?  
  
Potter shook his head. "I'm not going to _make_ him do anything and, really, at this point, I'd settle for him _liking_ me."  
  
 _Don't count on it, Potter_ , Draco thought evilly.

* * *

Goddamn, motherfucking Crabbe and Goyle. The hinges of their bed were screaming for mercy and so was Draco, his sanity hanging on by a fraying thread. He took the pillow with him as he gave up on the glorious notion of sleep and held it over both of his ears as he escaped to the hallway outside the Slytherin dorm room.  
  
…

Where Harry Potter was apparently waiting for him.  
  
"What the hell are you doing out here, Potter?"  
  
Potter seemed to be contemplating his utter uselessness as he was startled out of his reverie with a jolt. "Draco! I didn't expect you to, erm, be, er, out here…" he finished lamely, as if he'd only just realized he was standing outside the _Slytherin_ dorms.  
  
"My roommates are fucking loudly in the bed next to mine, and not the pretty ones," he added as an afterthought, smirking.  
  
Potter's face colored rapidly and he managed some unintelligible squeaks before offering awkwardly, "You know, um, my bed's, uh, well, it's free and no one's, um, doing… _anything_ in the dorm so it'd be quiet and you could, well, sleep in my bed, you know, _with me_."  
  
Oh, this was just too easy. "Potter, are you trying to ask me if I want to sleep with you?"  
  
Potter sputtered and seemed to be choking on his own tongue. "I, erm, I - that's not how I… mean, I want… Well, yes."  
  
Draco flipped his hair over his shoulder with a pale hand and said simply, "Yeah, okay."  
  
Potter's eyes bulged and he looked ridiculously pleased with himself. "You will? This is, well… You, um… Ready to go?"  
  
Draco smirked. "Yes, Potter, I'm ready to go."  
  
They walked to Gryffindor Tower in silence, Draco memorizing the way. He had the feeling he would back up here quite a bit. After all, Potter seemed quite eager to please and Draco was sure he could train him to be the perfect boyfriend.  
  
For the first time since it happened, Draco found himself thinking perhaps Crabbe and Goyle getting together wasn't really such a bad thing after all.

 

\- - _When Life Gives You Lemons... Thank Your Friggin' Author!_ \- -

Someone in Gryffindor Tower rolled over in their bed, a creaky sound emanating from it, and Draco groaned unhappily.  
  
He could hear the sounds of bed springs screeching loudly, the squeals of soon to be bacon, crying children, deep grunts, low moans, and pervasive groans, and he could see bulging fleshy flesh.  
  
He looked down apologetically at Potter.  
  
The green-eyed boy let Draco's wilting erection slip from his mouth with an audible _pop_ and glared at it disapprovingly. Draco was a veteran of the Crabbe/Goyle war of '96 and unfortunately he'd been severely traumatized, the scars running deeper than even he realized.  
  
"Am I that unappealing, Draco?" Potter questioned boorishly.  
  
Draco glared at him. He was already eyeing Draco's cock as if it had mortally offended him and now he was asking idiotic questions. "Potter, your mouth was on my cock, I can guarantee you, even if it were a _chick_ doing it, I usually would've been able to get off. Not everything is about you. Honestly, I don't know how you've managed to hold my attention for this long."  
  
Potter sat on his bed next to Draco and said in a breathy tone, "Well, that's a relief."  
  
Apparently he had missed all the parts where Draco had insulted him. Draco eyed him warily and shifted surreptitiously further down on the bed so he wouldn't catch the crazy. "I'm going back to my dorm room."  
  
Potter groped for his arm and said quickly, "I thought you couldn't go back to your room because your roommates were doing it?"  
  
Draco fought the urge to laugh. "Okay, one, there's no way I'm staying here if I can't get off. That was the whole point of coming up here with you. And two, did you just say, ' _doing it_ '?" Potter's cheeks burned red and Draco laughed, hard. "There is no way I'm fucking a boy who calls sex ' _doing it_ ,'" Draco declared, followed by more peals of laughter.  
  
Potter growled and said haughtily, "Yeah, well, you're not fucking anybody if you can't get it up, now are you, Draco?"  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at him and stood up, buttoning his trousers. "Low blow, Potter," he said icily.  
  
Potter placed a hand over his now cloth-covered dick and said impishly, "Don't you want to stay and see if we can fix it together? It's a much better option than listening to your roommates canoodling."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and said scathingly, "I almost prefer ' _doing it_ ' over ' _canoodling_ ,' Potter." But dropped trou nonetheless and joined Potter on the bed once again.  
  
They got no further that night despite Potter's enthusiastic efforts and, much to Draco's disgust, he ended up spending the night. Worse yet, Potter was a snuggler. Not a cuddler, no, no, a snuggler. Think cuddler on steroids.  
  
None of this explained why Draco woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in ages. He honestly couldn't remember being this well-rested since he was ten-years-old.

* * *

"Hermione said I should distract you," Potter announced while he rutted _his_ erection against Draco's leg. Show off.  
  
He trailed his lips down Draco's neck and moaned loudly. Well, at least someone was enjoying this. "Draco," he panted, " _please_ try, I want you inside me."  
  
Draco's cock twitched at that, despite the twinge of annoyance. What did Potter think he was doing over here? ' _Please try_.' No thanks, really, he'd rather be impotent his entire life. Potter was such a blowhard.  
  
What a fantastic little insult. His own mind was taunting him now.  
  
So here was Potter's brilliant distraction. ' _Doing it_ ,' to borrow a phrase from a moronic Gryffindor, on their Potions professor's desk and, so far, Draco had to admit, it was working brilliantly. He was fully hard and ready to bruise the shit out of the Boy Who Lived To Hug Rape Innocent People's arse.  
  
"Oh Gods, Draco. Yes," Potter hissed, feeling Draco's responding excitement _finally_! "I want you so much. Put it in me."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes as he pushed Potter off over the side of the desk and onto the floor. Potter fell spectacularly and sat up rubbing a sore elbow. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. Draco shrugged wickedly. "Come on, Potter, it's not like I could switch our positions on this narrow desk without one of us getting up."  
  
"You could've just asked," Potter grumbled and Draco moved out of the way so that Potter could take the place he'd just been occupying, which Potter did after removing his shirt and pants. Potter really was hot… If you liked dweeby, speccy, fit blokes, Draco supposed.  
  
Draco shrugged again and unbuttoned his trousers, his cock springing free happily. He stroked himself as he said seriously, "You did deserve it though. I don't know what five-year-old you've been talking to about sex but you really should discuss this with your own age group." He perked a blond brow. "Really now, ' _doing it_ ,' ' _canoodling_ ,' and ' _put it in me_?' I think I'm revoking your speaking privileges until you can learn how to be sexy."  
  
Potter stuck his tongue out at him as he spread his legs so Draco could climb in between them. "Only if I can revoke yours, you critical bastard."  
  
"I'm a Malfoy," Draco said conceitedly, moving his hand teasingly over his cock while Potter eyed the action, clearly fascinated while he licked his lips. "You can't take anything from me. I get whatever I want. And right now, Potter," he said authoritatively, and Potter's eyes immediately flicked up to meet his smoldering gaze, "I want to fuck you."  
  
Potter nodded emphatically and Draco smirked at his eagerness. Like spelling flobberworms into a bucket. He reached into his godfather's desk drawer and pulled out a vial of lubricant. He uncorked it and a lemony scent wafted up to his nostrils.  
  
Potter sat up on his elbows and asked curiously, "Is that lemon-flavored?"  
  
 _"Have fun stretching Harry, Mr. Malfoy!"_  
  
" _Aahh, no!_ " Draco shouted so vehemently he fell backwards off the desk and slammed onto his rear end, the lubricant flying out of his hand and spilling all over his head, leaving him smelling like lemon zest.  
  
He sputtered and removed the goop from his eyes with a scoop-like formation of his fingers while Potter sat up and said dejectedly, motioning to his lap, "You're not hard anymore."  
  
Potter's lower lip stuck out in a pout and Draco was amazed _that_ was the only thing that Potter had taken away from him freaking out, falling off Snape's desk, and covering himself in lemon-flavored lubricant - that he wasn't hard anymore. He really was gonzo.  
  
Potter slid off the desk with a sigh, nude and still jutting out proudly. Bastard. He cupped Draco's cheek lightly and said in a tired voice, "Is there something I should know?"  
  
What the fuck did that mean? "Yes," Draco said angrily, "I think you might be seriously mental. No joke, Potter. You might want to get yourself checked out by a professional."  
  
Potter bit his lip and seemed uncertain. "Is that like a turn-on for you or something, Draco? Because, I swear to god, I'll go out right now and find a psychiatrist to treat and diagnose me. Or did you want to role-play with me as the schizo and you as my doctor, or did you wanna do it the other way around? Whatever it is, Draco. Dear gods, just participate!"  
  
Draco stared at him oddly before blurting, "What is _wrong_ with you? Of course I don't want to role-play—Where did you even—Okay, I really am serious about the loony bit, Potter. Seek medical help." He stood up and spelled himself clean, though he fancied he could still feel the Moldy Plum's favorite lubricant in his hair. His poor, beautiful hair.  
  
He zipped up his trousers while Potter watched him sadly and pulled on his own clothes, saying finally, "Maybe you need more kinks. You strike me as a kinky bloke, Draco. I'm sure I'll figure something out," he said, eyeing Draco like a piece of beef, not pork, he had enough pig imagery in his head to last a lifetime.

* * *

Draco was on his way to his most boring class, taught by a dead man. The lucky sod. At least he could practice sleeping with his eyes open again. He still hadn't gotten past being somewhat lucid, he could zone out completely but he wasn't act—  
  
"Miss me?" Potter asked breathily as he yanked Draco into an empty classroom. "I think I've figured out a way to get Draco Jr. to perk up and take notice."  
  
"Potter," Draco began wearily, "please, do not take on the liberty of naming my dick. We must agree on a name if you want one so badly and _Draco Jr._ is not going to cut it."  
  
"Goliath!" Potter declared assuredly.  
  
Draco glared at him and said in the same mocking excitement, "No!"  
  
Potter shrugged. "How about Scared Little Bunny Foo Foo?" He knelt down in front of Draco, moved his designer robes aside, and mouthed his flaccid cock through his trousers, breathing against it, "It's okay, Scared Little Bunny Foo Foo, I won't hurt you. I'll make you feel good, I promise, but you have to come out of your hidey-hole."  
  
Draco placed his hand over Potter's glasses, nose, and mouth and pushed him off by his face. "Potter, if you do not stop patronizing my dick, I _will_ kill you. I'm not the Dark Lord either, I won't sit there chatting with you about _how_ I'm going to kill you, meanwhile giving you ample time to escape. I'll actually do it."  
  
Potter looked up at him and resumed his position, stroking Draco's length with a forefinger. "Well… I don't know. You want a butch name then? I'm guessing Fluffy's out if that's the case?" Draco snarled at him and Potter grinned. "How 'bout Steel?"  
  
Draco rather liked the sound of that. _Steel_. It was so… secret agent-y. But still… "You know, I'd rather we just don't refer to my cock as anything other than 'cock.'  But if you must then, yes, Steel is acceptable."  
  
"Brilliant," Potter said happily as he mouthed Steel through the fabric again. Draco shook his head, he was not going to refer to his dick that way, not even in his head. However cool the name was.  
  
"So, what was your plan then, Potter?" Draco asked, not wanting to lose their momentum. Steel was already half-soldered.  
  
Potter reached over one of the desks of the spare classroom they were in and picked up a long length of rope. He snapped it with a rather devilish grin. "I was thinking I could tie you up and then ride you."  
  
If the way Draco's cock spasmed was any indication, he was quite fond of that idea as well. He practically ripped off his own clothing and stared at his healthy and eager cock, giving it a silent pep talk, promising to call it Steel for all of eternity if it just continued to keep the wind in its sails.  
  
When he looked up, Potter was naked and staring at him hungrily. "I want Steel buried in me up to the hilt."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and said in a strained tone, "What did I tell you about getting your sexual innuendos from five-year-olds, Potter?"  
  
Potter just shrugged and indicated where he was going to tie Draco up when Draco realized something. They were on the second floor, in a disused classroom that faced the Quidditch pitch, and Draco remembered that particular window pattern cutting into bursting flesh as it was pushed up against the clear glass and rode hard.  
  
Aaahh, he needed soap for his eyes!  
  
Potter glanced over his shoulder sultrily and frowned, looking completely desolate. "What did you do now? Steel was ready to pound me!" Potter smacked him hard in the shoulder. "If you're not careful, Steel is going to revolt and then you'll be penis-less, and I want you to be penis-full so you can canoodle me!"  
  
Draco just stared ahead of him, mouth dropped open in horror while Potter continued to stomp around, his erection bouncing along contently on his tirade. Barmy, bragging arse. "I thought you wanted to be tied up? Do you want _me_ to be tied up? Or do we need to go back to the psychiatrist thing? I can get a white lab coat, Draco. I swear to fucking god, I can. We were so fucking close, what did you do? Draco, are you listening to me?"  
  
He wasn't. Draco was hearing a whooshing sound that was only drowned out by the occasional screams of his tortured subconscious. Draco believed it was begging for death now, anything to make the images stop. Potter smacked him hard in the back of the head and Draco blinked and turned on him angrily. "What the hell was that for?"  
  
"I was talking to you!" Potter cupped him and _squeezed_. "Now, tell me what the hell happened!"  
  
Draco shrugged. "I don't know, didn't you just say you were talking to me?" he answered cheekily.  
  
Potter rolled his eyes. "Oh ha ha. I'm beginning to think you're not even gay—" Potter seemed to have an epiphany and he clapped his hands together eagerly. "I'll dress up as a chick if you want! Skirt and all, just please, Draco, please, _do me_."  
  
Draco choked on his laughter before saying resolutely, "I swear to god, Potter, if you dress up like a chick then this non-thing between us is over. Got that?"  
  
Potter nodded miserably and said simply, "I just want to know what happened to scare my poor, brave Steel away because, let me tell you, Draco, it does give a boy a complex."  
  
Draco sighed wearily and said likely the most tender thing that would ever come out of his mouth, "Potter, you incredible dolt, I've told you, and if you could get it through your thick Gryffindor skull I'm sure you'd remember, it's not you. You're hot in your own nerdtastic way, somehow even those Coke bottle glasses work for you so stop worrying."  
  
Potter looked at him oddly before grinning widely and saying in a sweet, cavity-inducing voice, "Aw, Draco, you loooove me!"  
  
Why was Potter impervious to Draco's verbal abuse? It really wasn't fair. He felt like a supervillian who was in the middle of cackling wildly after successfully dreaming up a truly diabolical plan and, having just relayed it to the masses, was interrupted by an utterly unconcerned superhero asking him to a frilly tea party.  
  
Draco bristled, cleared his head, and glared at him. "I most certainly do not. Now, I'm leaving."

* * *

Draco really needed to get over this Crabbe and Goyle thing before it drove him to insanity. He was sexually frustrated with a sexually frustrated boy toy at his disposal. That was simply unacceptable.  
  
He walked down to the lake, hoping the tranquility would spark some sort of thought process besides the caveman bit he had down: Fuck Potter. Now. Screw Steel. Fuck Potter. Of course, the caveman side of him didn't realize that Steel was a quintessential part of making that whole thing happen.  
  
Fuck, he was referring to his dick as Steel again. That had to stop.  
  
See, his brain always got side-tracked and it seemed to always lead back to Potter, which was ludicrous. The craziness really was catching.  
  
Anyhoozles, how to get Crabbe and Goyle fucking out of his head? Well, there _was_ one surefire way: stop blatantly thinking about it. Like now. Fuck, his brain was no help at all. Maybe he could watch a different, _hot_ couple fucking and that could offset the Crabbe and Goyle Disgust-a-Thon. Watching Potter would be hot, it'd have to be a blond though—  
  
Draco stopped mid-thought, well, all thought really, as arms wrapped tight around his middle. How did Potter do that, even with the cloak? He slid his own hands up Potter's back, feeling Potter's rock hard cock against his leg. He really was a boastful bastard.  
  
"Hello, Potter."  
  
"Draco," Potter said, his voice muffled by Draco's neck. One of Potter's hands slid down the front of Draco's pants and palmed him to hardness through the fabric. "Nice night, isn't it? You come down to the lake a lot?"  
  
Draco took a shuddering breath, wondering why the Gryffindork was making small talk while he had his hand on Draco's _hard_ dick, but decided to humor the clearly unstable boy. "Yeah, it's my favorite place in the whole castle. You?"  
  
Potter drew back and planted his lips on Draco's, both boys kissing fiercely before Potter withdrew, his hand still on Draco's cock as he lowered them both to the ground with a shaky arm behind him. "Not as much as I'd like."  
  
He pushed Draco's robes off his shoulders and Draco helped to shuck off the rest of his and Potter's clothes (helping Potter because he looked rather spastic with his elbow caught in his shirt sleeve and the neck of his t-shirt caught on his glasses. Draco took pity on him) until they were both naked and Potter was pushing their cocks together. "Remember when I said I loved you?"  
  
"Yeah," Draco panted, wondering why Potter kept insisting on speaking. He was really beginning to spoil the mood.  
  
"Just checking," Potter announced with a smirk, pushing a vial of blue raspberry lube into Draco's hands, which he smelled immediately upon uncorking it. "Give it to me good, Drake."  
  
Draco spread the lube over his fingers generously and, while positioning his forefinger at Potter's entrance, he took the time to educate him. "One, Drake, that's a no-no." He pushed in slowly and Potter arched beneath him. "Two, _seriously, Potter_." He twisted his finger and Potter hissed. "I'm beginning to worry about your unnaturally close relationship to five-year-olds. ' _Give it to me good_?'"  
  
Potter scoffed. "School me then, Oh Wise One." Draco added a second finger and Potter wasn't looking quite as smug.  
  
"Try profanity," Draco said easily, scissoring and thrusting his fingers.  
  
Potter brought his hips down on Draco's fingers as if he were trying to swallow them whole and scrunched his eyes tight. "Shit-eating cuntlick!"  
  
Draco would've stopped in shock if Potter's hips weren't so persistent but instead he pushed in another finger, twisted, and burst into a fit of laughter. "Wow, Potter. How wildly inappropriate."  
  
Potter's pout was interrupted by a groan but he forced out an accusatory, "You _told_ me to use profanity!"  
  
Draco laughed as he pulled his fingers out. Potter whined at the loss. "Yeah, well, I didn't think you could fuck up a simple direction like that. Trust Harry Potter to prove me wrong. You're constantly thwarting me."  
  
He positioned himself at Potter's entrance and they took a collective breath as he pushed in. "Holy fuck, Potter. You a virgin?" Draco asked once Steel was fully sheathed.  
  
"This… ngh… isn't really—oh god—how I wanted to discuss—Fuck, Draco ("That's better!" Draco added from the background)—our sexual histories," Potter finally managed, Draco purposefully interrupting him with forceful thrusts to his prostate while he grinned evilly. When he wasn't panting, of course.  
  
Draco wiggled his eyebrows at him, sweat beading on his forehead as Potter gave him permission to be as rough as he pleased. "So… guh… that's a yes, then?"  
  
Potter didn't answer. His teeth were clenched together tightly and his legs and arms were holding Draco close in his tightest hug rape yet, which was just as well, because the whooshing noise was back, this time interrupted by his subconscious occasionally whooping for joy.  
  
That was when Draco realized they were… sinking. Well, not so much sinking as sliding, and, well, no, sinking too. His right hand was now up to his wrist in mud and he was sure Potter's entire back was coated with it. Why in the world Potter had decided to pull them down onto a mud bank was beyond Draco but, at that point, he was also well beyond caring.  
  
Flecks of mud were getting all over them as Draco rammed into Potter harder, making them both keen and beg and it was when Draco leaned down and forced his tongue into Potter's mouth that Potter came between them. Draco following almost instantly as Potter's hole clenched around him like a vice grip.  
  
Draco collapsed on top of the glinty-eyed Gryffindor and he felt muddy hands slide up his previously clean back but he couldn't be arsed enough to care in that moment. Potter licked along his neck, leaving lovebites in his wake. "I guess we took care of Steel's wittle problem, didn't we? Hermione told me all I needed to do was distract you, I guess she was right. All it took was some small talk. Who would've thunk it, talking _before_ you do it? Blasphemy!"  
  
Draco lifted his head just enough to glare at Potter. "One, no baby talk. Ever. Two, stop talking to the Muggle-born about our ' _wittle_ ' problems in the bedroom."  
  
Potter cocked an eyebrow and imitated Draco's voice.  Poorly. "One, did you just say 'Muggle-born?'" Draco nodded embarrassedly and Potter beamed at him. "Two, _this_ ," he indicated their surroundings, "is _not_ a bedroom."  
  
Well, Draco had to give him that one.  
  
Potter lipped his ear and looked out at the lake as he said huskily, "How do you feel about skinny dipping instead of a shower?"  
  
Draco Malfoy's life ruled. Here was the quantum theory for it:  


Variable _s (skinny dipping)_ = Awesome. Introduce variable _P (Potter)_ and variable _d (desire)_. Subtract both _f (father)_ and _g (girls)_ [Which still = Gross] and you get:

_s_ x Draco Malfoy - ( _f_ x _g_ ) ÷ ( _P_ x _d_ ) = one very happy, skinny dipping, Harry Potter-loving Draco Malfoy

 


End file.
